


Drive

by flowercrownedskull



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kissing, M/M, No Sex, Retired Hunters, anyway, boys are emotionally constipated, but anal waters down angst sometimes so I avoided the risk, but not crazy angsty, coz hunting is a bitch when you're almost 40, finally kissing, heh, i wanted to add sex, kinda retired, like trying hard to retire, they just CANT expel the emotions no matter how bad the pressure gets, this is angsty, this is post darkness, toilet jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:56:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercrownedskull/pseuds/flowercrownedskull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do avoid acknowledging your feelings for your best friend? <br/>You shut your mouth and drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive

I can imagine them driving. I can see it clearly.

I can see Dean's reality shifting, although it is the same car, the same weight of weapons in the trunk, the same never ending roads.

Sam's dropped off at the small apartment near KU. His life is  _ his _ now. And Dean is okay with that. Dean is okay with that because he has his car, he has his name’s blood stained legacy and he has an angel by his side.

It's weird, though.  Castiel— Cas is an angel. But he doesn't flaunt it anymore. The suit and coat have been stashed somewhere. His t-shirts are faded and untidy at the hems. His boots are scruffed and golden with dust. His eyes are tired, droopy, aged. His smiles are doped. His gait is careless. It's  _ weird _ because Cas scratches his chin sometimes while talking, he takes  _ naps _ in the backseat with his bare feet perched out of the rolled down window of the car.

It's weird. It's so  _ fucking _ weird but  _ damn _ if it is picturesque. Dean can see the appeal. The appeal is blatant, uncensored and raw. But he can't acknowledge it. So he drives.

 

.

It rains in Washington. So Cas rolls the window down and grins at the fucking sky like a he’s filled to the brim with dope. Dean scowls at him and bitches about the wet upholstery. But Cas refuses to give up on the carnival the incessant drizzle is, apparently, turning out to be.

Who knew Dean Winchester would prefer a road trip with a retired angel who gets excited about rains and shitty postcards from gas stations?

Motels are the same in every state. The smell of tobacco clings to the curtains. The carpets look like well scrubbed and sanitized scenes of crime.

Dean wakes up that night to Cas humming ‘ _ Hey Jude’  _ in the bathtub, adorned in white foam and a bottle of Jack between his two fingers. The dark edge of the bottle drags on the tile back and forth like a pendulum. Dean leans at the door and stares at Cas. He grins and rolls his eyes because Cas can't get drunk and there's soap over his forearms making him look ridiculous and glorious and moronic… Dean stays there for a while and Cas never turns his head to acknowledge his presence.

.

Roads are unwinding. But turns out the guns in the trunk aren't meant to rust. Dean bandages his bloody arm while Cas watches from his bed one night. Dean grits his teeth and curses into the mouth of his beer bottle. Cas’ eyes are mirthful, his lips are a straight line. He doesn't move to help. Dean thinks about the too easy werewolf hunt. And Cas stares at him unblinkingly like he's a freak at a freak show. Later Dean storms out of their room into the drizzle because he hates Cas.

It’s morning and they're leaving the town. They are quiet and the stereo is choked in the middle of a Bon Iver song that Dean will never admit to appreciating. Dean's fingers are warm around the steering. The rain is fleeting now but he can see Cas’ fingers drumming at falling drops of water like he's trying to hold them. When Cas finally brings his hand in, he does it to fucking  _ taste  _ the water from the overrated Heavens above. He makes a fucking show out of it which is horrifying and scintillating for Dean because it's just  _ rainwater _ not ambrosia. Dean almost swallows his tongue while he fights the emergence of a hollow pit in his stomach. He accelerates because he fucking hates Washington.

.

Gas stations are milestones. Diners are mere necessities. Castiel has a dozens of tacky postcards in the backseat. Dean doesn't understand the appeal of the generic pictures of the L. A skyline with a shitty quote stamped on it. And what does ‘California dreamin’ even mean?

And Dean fails to figure why Cas loves postcards so much. Like he fails to figure a lot of other things about Cas. And it scares him because they are rolling through the states like tumbleweed and they aren't getting younger and Dean sleeps at nights while Cas doesn't.

But then at the same time Cas just knows when Dean needs to stay awake and sip the night away in a bottle of Jack on the hood of his car just because he  _ needs  _ to watch the stars fade. Cas just knows of Dean’s persistent migraine that he removes by  _ flicking at his ear. _ And Cas just knows what nightmares he has to quietly erase by the next morning and which of Dean’s dreams he has to solidify in his memories. Cas hasn't used his wings in the three months that they've spent on the road. Dean doesn’t ask him why but he sure is okay with that.

.

Dean stops the car at a diner, orders burgers for takeaway and misses his kitchen back home. He wants to go back but he can’t because the bunker is a hunter’s hideout. And he’s still figuring out how to not be a hunter.

Dean walks out with the food, his heart still missing  _ home  _ but stops suddenly because Cas isn’t in the car— Cas is there kneeling at an unmarked grave on the other side of the road caressing the worn wood of the haphazard cross like he should a lover’s face.

And Dean is spellbound because  _ that _ is Cas. That is the angel that got burnt at the edges never to heal because  _ Dean’s  _ undeserving ass was enveloped in Hellfire. That is the angel who fucking  _ cherishes _ humanity when he's actually millions of stars trapped in human body. That is Castiel – postcard collector, rain taster, Saint of unnamed dead…

.

The fourth month is quieter. It's unnerving even for them. And that's ‘cause Dean is finally feeling Sam's absence. Kansas is not too far away. But Sam doesn't want to see him again. Dean's eyelids are swollen due to lack of sleep. Castiel is stoic. Too stoic. The postcards are a stack in a spare duffel. The guns have finally started to rust. The car needs rest. But Dean's driving because Sam  _ begged  _ him to stay away from him.

_ Please Dean, please. Just give me a couple of years. I'll see you when I've found a real life for me. Then you can come and be a part of it… _

Sam had begged him.  _ Please, please, please…  _ Now Dean was on this side of four months, away from Sam and normalcy for him was a life where he didn't read newspapers and slept alone after counting the lines at the corner of his eyes. Fucking pathetic.

And Castiel was… Like background music. Like a jukebox stuck at Frank Sinatra in a sixties style bar. Like a damn smoke machine in a discotheque that was too consistent in throwing the damn smoke.

Tonight Cas was spinning a copy of ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ on his index finger when Dean closed his eyes to his silent reality. The town was quiet except for the trucks in the distance. Dean was quiet except for the tears congealing at the corner of his eyes. The darkness in the room was thick until Cas finally spoke from his bed.

‘Does this feel like a bad dream now?’

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat and waited for Cas to say something else.

‘You are not happy. You're stuck. But I don't know what to do, Dean. How do I help you? What can I do for-- ’

‘Cas, I'm…’ Dean waited for his brain to give him  _ something  _ to say. ‘Please put me to sleep.’

‘Dean –’

‘Please, Cas.’

The dreamless sleep that comes feels stale.

.

Castiel wants to take something of Dean’s with him. Like a cowardly lover running from the commitment but not the love. The morning is purple. Castiel wants to sleep but Dean needs his life back. Castiel wants to explore everything with Dean but Dean wants his past back. The darkness didn't hide Dean’s sorrow from Castiel. Even in sleep he hurts.

Castiel is still a failure. He cannot help no matter how much he loves.

The morning star is fading when Castiel spreads a heap of postcards on his bed and pockets Dean’s old lock pick. He doesn’t want to trivialize the air with goodbyes or I love yous.

.

When Dean wakes up with a jolt, the morning is still young. His heart is beating fast and the room is silent. Dean doesn’t know how but he is suddenly outside, barefoot on the street.

He is a thirty eight year old man crying on the deserted street trying hard to not shout for a Cas.

Dean runs. Dean runs for Cas because that's all he can think of. Morning fog has made the gravel slippery. His feet hurt and he is surrounded by broken old cars parked forlornly and Cas is gone. Dean is pulling his hair with both hands when he hears metal hit ground. He finds Cas trying to key a beat up Volkswagen. Cas has blue earmuffs on and his eyes are red when they finally meet Dean’s.

‘What the…’ Dean closes his eyes, relieved.

‘Dean—’

‘No.  _ What. The. Fuck. Cas?’ _

_ ‘ _ You didn't want me –’

‘Shut up, you idiot. You're not allowed to leave me unless I'm dead and rotting!’

‘But you hate me—’

‘No, Cas. I hate  _ me.  _ And I'll always hate me because I'm hardwired like that. But  _ you _ ? I couldn’t—’

‘Dean, you aren’t happy. Sam—’

‘I couldn't  _ breathe  _ with you gone.’

Castiel pauses. He peers into Dean’s sleepless eyes, dull green but sincere. He slouches because his wings are heavy with the thought of those abandoned postcards that were just inane letters to God thanking him for Dean and love and humanity…

‘I'm sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry –’

Dean closes the distance between the two of them and clutches Cas’ face earmuffs and all.

‘I. Couldn't.  _ Breathe _ .’

When they kiss, nothing fucking explodes. It is all the same. The morning is dull and cold. A tiny pebble is digging into Dean's heel. The world keeps spinning. Someone dies somewhere. Someone lives somewhere. Sam probably starts his normal life's normal weekday somewhere.

And Dean and Cas can breathe again. It all clicks into motion. Clouds darken but air feels hopeful.

Fucking  _ hopeful. _

It isn’t earth shattering but it is all they both could ever hope for, live for, need, crave, want, desire…

You get the picture.

  
  
  
  
  


.

  
  
  



End file.
